


Confessions of a Futon Revolutionist

by veeagainst



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-14
Updated: 2013-09-14
Packaged: 2017-12-26 12:38:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/966016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veeagainst/pseuds/veeagainst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing in the world reminds Remus Lupin more of Sirius Black than the crumpled sheets of an unmade bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confessions of a Futon Revolutionist

Nothing in the world reminds Remus more of Sirius Black than the crumpled sheets of an unmade bed, he thinks, as he stands in the doorway and stares at all that remains of the previous night -- one unmade mattress, lying in the middle of a room barren of anything but a few books placed neatly in a pile atop a folded robe.  Those two orderly items nestle together in a corner while, on the mattress, the sheets hang from the sides obscenely, undone and desperately in need of a wash. 

  
Remus cannot afford to keep washing his sheets every afternoon, but the meticulous part of his brain cannot afford to sleep on sheets that have been soaked in sweat all night.  The summer is blazing hot, burning out into the final stretch of August, and sundown offers no relief.

  
In fact, it offers the opposite of relief in this pathetic flat in the East End, and Remus is too passionate -- somewhere, deep within his soul, contrary to the cruel things Sirius had said the night before, there is a wellspring of emotion forever threatening to break free and spill out all of his secrets onto the dusty floor -- to change anything.

  
After they left Hogwarts, Sirius had always dropped by Remus' flat at random times.  They were friends; friends came to see each other.  If sometimes friends wound up drinking too much of whatever happened to be available (on one occasion, some water from the tap that they'd experimented on to no avail) and falling asleep -- just falling asleep, _nothing else_ \-- in the same bed, well, that was what friends who had known each other for eight years did.  If sometimes it seemed like Sirius spent more time falling asleep on Remus' broken-down mattress than he did in his own rather nice bed in Kensington, well, it was a time of war, and everyone needed a little comfort. 

  
Especially, Remus kept telling himself over and over again, two friends who have to fight in that war and worry about the people they love every single day.

  
Unfortunately, there's no way that Remus can tell himself this anymore.  Sirius has come every night in August.  Nineteen days of sleeping in Remus's bed, nineteen days of waking up to find their arms slung over each other or their fingers curled together or just their ankles touching to the point of distraction.

  
Nineteen days, Remus knows, of waking up and knowing that he needed a cold shower before he could begin the day, and not just because of how hot his bedroom had become overnight.

  
Remus is an emotional realist, and there is nothing that he cannot face, as Sirius had shouted last night.  Sirius' exact words had been, "As soon as you think you're feeling something, you'll just toss up a new set of walls and be done with it, and, and, just carry on!  As if nothing has happened!  You've got the fortifications of a bloody castle!"

  
This morning, Remus does not remember what witty reply he'd had to that.  He doesn't remember anything that he said, because it was the same thing he has always said to himself, and, in the nature of true mantras, he does not actually know the sounds that come from his mouth, only that they comfort him.

  
Comforted.  They comforted him.  He tries to make himself step into the room to remove the sheets, to take them to the laundromat, but his feet and legs ignore him.  Some part of his mind laughs, a rather cruel laugh that sounds rather like Sirius' when he'd walked out the door at three in the morning, shouting over his shoulder, "You'll never change, Remus."

  
Remus runs a hand across his forehead and it comes away wet.  The flat is roughly the temperature of the surface of the sun, give or take some exponential numbers of degrees.  He wants to change, so desperately that it's nearly pathetic.  He wants to change just to prove Sirius Black wrong.

  
He wants to change just so Sirius Black will pin him to the bed in the middle of the night and kiss him awake.  Again.  And although the second time won't hold the surprise that the first did, he wants to surprise Sirius by kissing him back instead of throwing him halfway across the room.

  
In the sky, the sun is plummeting down towards the horizon, much, much faster than is normal.  Remus goes into the tiny kitchen and makes himself some tea.  Tea is all that his nerves can take.  He drinks it sitting on the floor -- he doesn't own any chairs, anymore, as Sirius broke his only one last night immediately after he'd stalked out of the bedroom.  The tea is very hot, and heats up his already sweating body to a point that is almost unbearable.  He cannot stop drinking it.  He is waiting.

  
Nine o'clock exactly, and there is a knock at the door.  Remus takes his time to set down his tea, and to walk across to the latch, but his hands are sweating so badly that he fumbles the lock and takes such a long time getting it undone that he becomes convinced Sirius has turned on his heel and walked back down the stairs and into the street, to points far away and utterly unknown to the love of Mo—

  
Remus breaks the chain off the door as the word love implodes in his mind.  It falls to the floor and the door swings open just as Sirius raises his hand to knock again.

  
They stare at each other for a long time, but Remus is not studying Sirius' face.  He knows it too well to study, too well to believe what his clearly fevered brain is trying to tell him.  Sirius looks chagrined and is holding something that looks suspiciously long and—

  
"Did you buy me flowers?" Remus blurts.

  
"What?" Sirius nearly yells.  "I don't buy anyone flowers."  He pauses, seems to get his emotions under control.  "It's a bottle of wine."

  
Remus is thoroughly confused.  His face must show it, because Sirius goes on: "Last night was... I need to, or, rather, I needed to... The point is, Moony..."  He breaks off and makes a very doggy face.  He scrunches up his nose and exhales a deep breath.  "Moony, I'm sorry about everything I shouted at you last night."  He holds out the bottle in supplication.  "I won't come in," he adds, "if you don't want me to."

  
"I think you'd better come in," Remus replies, a little faintly.  The heat really is getting to him.  He accepts the bottle of wine by putting both his hands over Sirius' and doing a sort of sliding, clinging, touching, holding motion.  It is a wonder that the bottle of wine survives the transfer with all of these actions taking place around its fragile glass stem.  Sirius gives Remus a look, a look much like the one that he had had when he woke up Remus nearly twenty four hours ago.  The look is terrifying and arousing at the same time.

   
"Come in," Remus repeats, uselessly, and tugs Sirius away from the kitchen and into the bedroom.  He sets the bottle of wine down on the floor and says, "Look at the state of my sheets."

  
This is not what he ever intended to say, but now it is out, and he cannot take it back.  Sirius peers around Remus and eyes the sheets for less than a second before he says, "Yes, very nice, what's your point?"

  
"I haven't washed them since last night," Remus says.  "Since _last night_ , Sirius."  He attempts to imbue this statement with dark meaning.  One of his hands seems to have crept up Sirius's arm.

  
"Oh," Sirius says.  "Do you usually wash them?"

  
Remus shuts his eyes and prays for strength.  How, how, how can he be in love with-- no.  It does not bear thinking about, because he _is_ in love with Sirius and although the revelation has come with all the augury of a freak accident, he knows that it is a condition he cannot escape.  Even if he wanted to, which he thinks -- probably -- he does not. 

  
"I have washed them every single day this month, Padfoot."

  
Sirius' purses his lips.  "Why on earth--"

  
"And you have never noticed," Remus carries on, a bit hysterically.

  
"Why the hell would I notice the bloody sheets?" Sirius wants to know.

  
"Because, because..." Remus looks around the room, searches for the answer.  The books still nestle atop the robe, most unhelpful in this particular situation.  "This is _our_ bed.  How can you not notice--"

  
"Our?" Sirius repeats.  "Our _bed_?"

  
"Fine," Remus snaps.  "Be a snob.  I'm sorry if our _mattress_ \--"

  
"That's not what I meant--"

  
"But that's what it is and I do have emotions--"

  
"Moony, Moony, I--"

  
"And I resent you telling me I don't, or acting like I don't, and I'm very sorry about last night too--"

  
"You didn't do any--"

  
"But the fact of the matter is, I needed some warning.  Some indication that you were... that that was what it was."

  
Sirius stares at him.  "I thought coming over here every night was quite a bit of indication."

  
"Maybe to you," Remus says hotly, "but I wasn't even considering it."

  
Sirius looks away, out the window.  This makes Remus irrationally angry, because he wants Sirius to look at him, and not only right now, but _all the time_.

  
"And now that I am considering it," he continues, "I think that it's time that you took notice of some things."

  
"Considering what?" Sirius asks.  He jerks his head up and now his gaze is back on Remus.  It is so intense that it feels like Remus' body might ignite.  He might not care enough to put himself out, if Sirius is going to look at him like that.

  
"Considering you.  Us.  Our mattress."

  
They stare at one another again, the tension in the room as thick as the air.  Finally Sirius says, "About time, Moony.  I've been considering you for years." 

  
Remus sits back on the edge of the mattress and shoves some of the bunched-up sheets away from him.  He puts a hand on his collar and starts unbuttoning his shirt, all the while watching Sirius's ever-widening eyes.  "I can't imagine why you're still waiting now, then," he says.  His voice shakes almost, if it is possible, as much as his hands.

  
Then Sirius is on his knees and pushing apart Remus' legs, climbing between them and kissing him fiercely and taking away Remus' hands so he can work at the buttons himself, but it is all right, because Remus needs those hands to touch Sirius _everywhere_. 

  
The next night, neither of them spend any time lingering in the doorway to contemplate the mattress before going to bed.


End file.
